If you spy a wink, take a drink! (Emma Approved)
by TheGalwayGirl
Summary: Sorry for the LBD tag, but there is no EA tag yet :( A collection of post-video drabbles which may or may not connect and will most likely be cannonballed as soon as the next video airs :) Also, I've never met an adverb I didn't like. I apologize if you find my (over)use of them annoying.
1. Chapter 1

"Emma, I'm thinking…about calling off the wedding."

Emma's face froze, her confident smile locked into place, as she tried to process what Annie was saying.

"Emma?" Annie asked tentatively, biting her lip uncomfortably at Emma's persistent silence and now slightly maniacal grin, deteriorating quickly into something more like a determined grimace.

The expression remained plastered on while her mind raced.

_Nineteen out of twenty. That's still, what? Nine times five is forty-five, carry the four…_She rolled her eyes and shook her head.

_Ugh, whatever. Math is boring. Regardless, I'll tell you what nineteen out of twenty is NOT—a hundred percent success rate. And I already had new business cards made up with the tagline "Emma's Vision is 20/20." _She thought wistfully of the dip-dyed cards in their neat box in her desk. 

"Emma?" Annie's voice had grown even smaller.

"Emma!" Alex voice boomed warningly from behind. Emma's mouth dropped open as her eyes darted to Annie's on the screen and then towards Alex's palpable disapproval rolling in from the doorway.

"Haaaaaaa…" Emma exhaled in an effort to stall. The staccato pat-pat of Alex's sensible lace-ups measured his approach, and Emma panicked. "Call you back in sec, sweetie—bye!" she exclaimed brightly and then clicked off the Domino app.

She hated his seemingly innate ability to exasperate her—though she tried her damndest to suppress any outward showing of it.

If she was being honest, she sometimes failed.

"Alex," she began breezily. She ignored the little vein pulsing in his temple. "_So_ sorry about earlier—I guess Domino is still working out some glitches! I'll email Gigi and let her know."

She turned her back to him, pulled up a new email, and began busily composing. Alex drew nearer to her until thigh was almost touching her shoulder. She paused in her typing and clenched her fingers.

"Yes?" she asked tightly.

"You hung up on me," Alex stated bluntly. Emma chuckled sheepishly and started to make an excuse but Alex cut her off—"And you have to make a short list of candidates for the PA position. Today," he added in response to her half-concealed eye roll and audible sigh. He held up a sheaf of résumés before smacking them down on her desk with a flourish.

"There are some really good ones in there, Emma," he said firmly. "I think Robert Martin sounds particularly promising."

Emma was incredulous. "Robert Martin? Seriously? I don't want a male personal assistant."

"And why not? Weren't you telling me something about mannies over brunch last weekend? _You_ said they were the new "it" accessory for the stylish working mom. Same principal, right? Besides, he seems more than capable." Alex ruffled through the papers until he found one printed on thick cream paper in an utterly uninspired Helvetica.

"See? Look, he worked nights in college to supplement what expenses his scholarship didn't cover, which shows he has a strong work ethic. He speaks three languages and is proficient in both photo and video editing."

Emma breathed in sharply through her nose and shook herself a little. "Sorry, I must have dozed off there for a second. Three languages, how fascinating. Do go on." She batted her eyes at him expectantly.

Alex bopped her on the nose with the folded résumé and then tossed it on top of the pile. "Choose whomever you want, Emma, but I'll want your final three by five. I'm done fielding your phone calls. I've got important, boring stuff to do, remember? That _is_ what you pay me for." He turned on his heel and walked out of her office.

Emma sighed again and then began disinterestedly flipping through the pile, until a flash of apricot caught her eye. She pulled out a decidedly flashier résumé than Robert Martin's, "Harriet Smith" printed in Lobster in a contrasting Prussian blue.

She paused for a second, and then held the paper up to her nose before taking a delicate sniff.

_Wait a second..is this…scented? _


	2. Chapter 2

Emma side-eyed the stack of résumés still sitting on the corner of her desk.

She closed her eyes and focused her breath for a moment, and then slowly creaked one eye open.

She was disappointed, though not surprised, to find the tidy stack had not disappeared.

"Uggggghhhhhhh," she let out in an irritated huff.

Emma Woodhouse was of a particular breed of perfectionist that to the untrained eye looked remarkably like procrastination.

But, really, she couldn't be expected to hire just _anyone_ to assist her on her ascent to greatness, could she? And despite Alex's insisting on the large quantity of "highly qualified candidates" to be found within that dull little pile, none of the faceless CVs piqued her interest.

Hmmm…maybe she should have required headshots—no, a full-body shot, so she could get an idea of each contender's fashion sense too! Plus, it would give her an idea of how well they could compose a fashion photograph…she was beginning to suspect Alex was growing tired of playing her personal Patrick Demarchelier during their daily photo shoots to document her outfits.

She made a mental note for next time.

Truthfully, the only applicant that seemed at all suitable was Harriet Smith—although the apricot paper was a tad gauche and Lobster really wasn't an appropriate font for a header, at least it showed some personality.

However, Alex insisted that she call in at least two others to interview next week, and she'd been staring at the pile of utterly boring résumés since Monday.

Emma sighed. She supposed she should just get it over with. She pulled out her monogrammed legal pad and a freshly sharpened pencil and began sketching out a ranking grid with a ruler. Once satisfied with her work, she pulled the sheaf of papers over and perused the first one.

"Robert Martin," she groaned, "He of the puritan work ethic and Photoshop proficiency. Joy." Nonetheless, she dutifully penciled his name into her grid.

While she contemplated how to rank him on personal style—what could one glean from the most perfunctory of résumé layouts and one of the most widely used sans-serifs around?—she absentmindedly tapped her pencil eraser on the paper and stared at the new video camera mounted on a tripod by her desk.

"Focus, Emma!" she scolded herself softly. "This will take an hour, tops. You just have to find two moderately appropriate candidates, and then Alex will get off your back." She decisively penciled in a two in the personal style column for the lackluster Mr. Martin and congratulated herself on her productivity.

Her progress was short lived though; as much as she admonished herself, she couldn't stop her gaze from returning to her shiny new toy.

"Okay, so I could settle in, get focused, and knock these out in an hour. Or…OR…"

She smiled. Whomever she ended up hiring would surely want to know how she became the amazing, awesome, life-maker person she was. And who was she to stand in the way of her creative spirit when inspiration struck?

And with that thought, she unceremoniously pushed the stack of resumes aside and turned on her camera.

"Hello, my lovelies!"


End file.
